Before the sun rose the next morning, Lydia slipped down the stairs with only a satchel to contain her belongings. She had left another bag already in place behind the drawing room sofa so she would not have to risk lugging it down the stairs and waking anyone. Only Abigail knew of her plan, and the lady’s maid followed behind her carefully to ensure the door was securely locked after Lydia made her escape.
“Thank you, Abigail, for everything,” Lydia whispered, grasping her maid’s hand at the door.
“Of course, My Lady. It is my pleasure. This is so romantic, after all!” Abigail replied, an eager smiling brightening her face.
Lydia forced a smile of her own. Romantic? No, not in the least. Necessary? Absolutely.
“Do please keep watch over Elsie for me, and when it is safe to do so, tell her I’ve only gone away to visit friends and that I’ll return for her shortly,” Lydia begged. Abigail promised, then Lydia saw a movement outside the house. “That should be him, I must be going. Do take care, and remember not to say a word until I am safely away. No sooner than tomorrow or the day after, if you please.”
“I remember, My Lady. I will take care of it all, never fear. Here, take this bag. I pinched a few things from the kitchen for your breakfast, a few things no one will notice have gone missing,” Abigail assured her. She held the door and helped Lydia carry her bags outside, then smiled again as she closed and locked the door.
Lydia hurried down the stone steps and into the carriage that waited in front. Matthew darted out quietly to help the driver put Lydia’s bags aboard, then they rolled away as quickly as they’d come, praying the clopping of the horses’ hooves did not arouse any interest.
“Good morning, Lady Lydia,” Matthew said awkwardly, “fine day for an excursion.”
“I cannot recall ever taking an excursion that lasted for over 300 miles, but if you think so,” Lydia teased, returning his forced smile.
“I assume you had no problems fleeing like a thief?” he continued, causing Lydia to laugh slightly.
“No, none. And did your sleeping gaoler permit you to escape through the servant’s door, or did you tie together your bedclothes for a makeshift ladder?” Lydia asked, returning his jest.
Matthew looked at Lydia with a serious expression and said, “One little-known truth about my mother is that she enjoys a hearty serving of strong port before bed to aid her in her sleep.”
Lydia suppressed a giggle and turned away, looking out the carriage window. She was suddenly struck by a melancholy feeling. “When we next return, we shall be married. That means we shall either be welcomed as the delightful couple who was swept up in the passion of a spontaneous romance, or the talk of London and shunned by all who knew us.” Looking at Matthew once more, she added quietly, “I will not be cross with you if you wish to turn back before it is too late.”
“I do not,” he said firmly, now looking straight ahead. “I have stated that I have far less to lose than you, however. I shall have the driver turn the corner and deposit you back at your uncle’s house if that is what you wish.”
Lydia shook her head. “No. I must see this through, for my sake and for Elsie’s. And yours too, I mean.”
Matthew nodded, then balled up a cushion from the seat and placed it against the wall of the carriage beside his head. In no time, he was sleeping soundly, leaving Lydia alone with the wretchedness of her thoughts and worries. She felt as though she’d been holding her breath since the previous morning when Matthew’s note had first arrived, offering her the safety of this inconceivable plan. Now, with her unfounded fears of her uncle giving chase to the carriage, every turn of the wheels across the city’s cobblestones felt like another tug at her corset, cinching her tighter and tighter until breathing would prove impossible.
Remember to breathe, Lydia, she told herself as the carriage swayed along through the streets of London.
Outside the window, the sun was only just beginning to lighten the sky when they passed the river, the docks already a flurry of busyness despite the hour. The gray clouds overhead gave the markets and docks a gloomy appearance, though Lydia knew the city to be a place of vibrant activity.
When the carriage chanced to pass the cemetery, Lydia looked over to the hillside in the direction of her parents’ graves. Though she could not make out the tombstones from this great distance below, she knew where they were situated, nestled together in the shadow of a great marble monument that her father had erected in honor of his beloved wife. She thought she could see the peak of the obelisk, but it may have only been her imagination.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Lydia whispered at the carriage glass. “I have failed you both. I never meant to shame you this way.”
Beside her, Matthew startled from his sleep. “Did you say something?” he asked, a groggy note already in his words.
“Nothing,” Lydia replied without turning around. She watched the cemetery until it faded from view, wondering how she would ever make it up to her parents for what she was about to do.
By midmorning, Lydia did not feel much like eating and Matthew had waved off the offer of food. They rode on in silence, leaving Lydia to wonder if this was to be some sign or portent of her future as a wife. Would she end her days alone in her house with only the walls to talk to? With this friendly marriage of convenience, was she to never have the comfort of a husband at her side and children playing around her feet?
“Let us play a game to pass the hours,” Matthew finally said, surprising Lydia. “What was the game we would play when it rained and we couldn’t go down to the brook? It was something about thinking of an animal name or a country or a plant, only I cannot remember the purpose of the game.”
“Yes,” Lydia said shyly, “the intent was for one of us to say an animal, and the other had to think of another one which began with the last letter of the previous one. It was quite fun at first, but grew harder and harder as the supply of known animals was exhausted.”
“Yes, and then there was the argument we had over the word ‘gnu.’ You insisted that it started with a letter G but I was certain that couldn’t be correct,” Matthew said, laughing.
“And despite your grave mistake, you pushed me down and I fell on the stairs,” Lydia replied, recalling the scene as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.
“I never did any such thing,” Matthew replied haughtily, “and if you bring it up again, I shall push you down once more.”
Lydia laughed at the expression of guilt he wore. “All right then, bring on the challenge. What is your animal?”
“I’ve already mentioned gnu, so that is as good as any,” he replied, slouching down slightly in the carriage seat and becoming more comfortable.
